


The Curious Relationship of John and Sherlock

by orphan_account, Strange_johnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Gen, More tags later, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-03 09:45:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10964703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_johnlock/pseuds/Strange_johnlock
Summary: John and Sherlock are both going to university. They're put in the same dorm room, but what will happen to them?Will John be able to get over his past demons, and will Sherlock be able to admit that he does, in fact, have feelings?





	1. - John

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so this is a new, long fanfic that Strange_johnlock and I are doing together. Each chapter is one of their points if view, I'm doing John, and Strange_johnlock is doing Sherlock. We hope you enjoy this first chapter!

Chapter 1. John

 

John writhed in bed, covered in sweat. He was dreaming again. The same dream he'd been having for almost two years now. Since the accident. Since he failed to save her. Since she'd died in his arms.

 

*****

 

Almost two years ago, John had been walking home with his girlfriend. Taking the same route he did everyday. Crossing the road at the same place he had been doing since he was 10. Nothing was different. He crossed the road, probably only three seconds ahead of her. He'd gone to unlock his door. His parents were out for the day, his sister staying at a friends house. He'd been allowed to have Mary over for the night. After countless days of begging, that was. Sometimes he thought if he'd never been so insistent, Mary would never have died. In the time it took for John to cross the road, walk up to his door and unlock it, a car had turned onto the road. It must have been doing well over 70 mph. By the time John heard the screech of tires and the scream, it was too late. Mary had been hit with so much force, she was thrown 10 metres across the ground. John ran towards her, not seeing her arms bent at awkward angles. Not seeing the blood covering the tarmac. Just seeing  _ Mary.  _

 

According to the emergency services, John tried CPR from the time he got to her, to the time the ambulance got to him. A full 10 minutes. John doesn't remember. Nor does he remember the fact that he'd checked on the driver in the car in that time. That he saved that man's life. All he remembered to begin with was the look in her eyes as her brain stopped. That he could tell when she died. But he kept doing CPR. Soon he remembered the blood. The copious amounts of it. All over her body, and all over his. And her arms. Twisted at inhuman angles. 

 

He was told that she'd had no chance of survival. That the damage to her brain was too great for anyone to have saved her. He remembered the looks of pity the doctors gave him. Then the nurses. Then his parents. He got angry at that. He didn't see why they felt sorry for him. Mary was the one who'd died. She didn't even have any family to mourn her. She lived in a children's home. She was hated, apparently. None of the children went to her funeral. Only one of the carers went. John knew the look of remorse in her eyes was false. He felt the sadness. The anger. He knew it.

 

After the funeral he made statements with the police. The funeral had been sorted quickly, so the investigation was started after just five days. Apparently the driver was drunk. At 4pm on a Wednesday. John was thanked. He was told that if he ever needed anything, to just give them a call. Police Constable Lestrade even gave him his personal number. Not for support, but in case John ever wanted to join. He was thankful for that. It was the first time someone had treated him like an adult since the accident. 

 

*****

 

John still writhed in bed. His nightmare, like every night, was of the accident itself. His sweat morphed into blood by his mind. The sounds of the house into moans of pain from Mary. The only difference between truth and reality was at the end of the dream, like every night. Mary would open her eyes, sit up, and tell John it was his fault. That he should have saved her. It was never the same words, but always the same message.

 

“ _ You could have saved me.” _

_ “I know. I'm sorry. Oh my god _ Mary, I'm so sorry.” John leapt upright, still muttering the end of his sentence. Climbing off his bed, he walked to the window, leaving his room in darkness. He knew he'd never get back to sleep again, there was no point in trying, but there was no need for the light right now. He didn't need to get up in the morning; it was summer holidays. He looked out at the road below. The skid marks were still there, the blood washed off by the police years ago. He could still see Mary on the road, if he looked hard enough. He sat on his window ledge, and watched the world as it continued. 

 

He no longer felt as alone as he once had, the intense grief and anger faded over time. He'd accepted the death, moved on. He still cared for her. He'd loved her at one point. He'd always remember her, and would always regret his inability to save her. 

 

As the sun rose three hours later, John looked back down at the spot where she'd died, and, for the first time, made a promise, to her and himself. “I'm going to learn how to help people Mary. I'm going to save people. I couldn't save you, but maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to save someone else one day. Right the universe as it were, yeah? I'm sorry Mary. I hope you're not in pain anymore.”

 

With that, John pulled his curtains closed, turned on the light and began to sort and pack his belongings. He was going to university in the next few weeks. Going to study medicine. Hopefully as a doctor he'd be able to keep his promise.


	2. - Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We read Sherlocks back story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know it's been a while. (my chapter per week went down the drain quickly), but here's chapter 2, courtesy of Strange_johnlock. Enjoy!

Sherlock had been a lonely child, but he hadn't known he was lonely back then. The world was still a mystery to the curious child, and he had spent days end discovering it. The house, the garden, and then later the fields and forests that surrounded his parents’ cottage. He caught insects to study and threw stones into the nearby lake to analyse the ripples and waves. Mycroft was always the one to come and look for him in the evenings, taking him back inside where Sherlock wrote down all he had learned that day into his sketch book. 

 

Sherlock had been able to write at just four years old. Mummy had taught him after he had nagged her for weeks in end. By the time she relented, he had even started to retrace the letters from his favourite books. 

 

No time to be lonely with so much to learn. 

 

Then came school. Sherlock watched with interest as the other children tried to make friends. It seemed fun, so Sherlock tried to start talking to his classmate, only to discover that they weren't as fascinated by the world as he was. Not at all. They like playing catch (“Ugh”), building forts (“Boring!”) and watching television (“So uneducational”). Plus they preferred doing it without him. That was okay though. 

 

Sherlock wasn't dependent on other children. 

 

He met Victor when they were both eight. Professor Trevor worked at the University near by and had moved into the area with his wife and son. Victor was nice. He shared his sweets with Sherlock and they built forts together (not that boring at all), where they sat and read books in silence, only looking up at each other from time to time. 

 

Victor listened when Sherlock told him about different types of trees and bees and his various experiments. They also played pirates together. Sherlock had never played pretend before, Mycroft refusing to do anything even remotely childish, but he found he loved being the Captain of the Rotten Tree (the tree that served as their ship).

 

Sherlock had a friend now, he liked having a friend. 

 

The Trevor’s moved away two years later as Professor Trevor had taken a job offer in Florida,  and the whole family had to move. Victor and Sherlock said goodbye on a windy Sunday morning. They never saw each other again. Victor met new children where he now lived, and so Sherlock was soon forgotten. 

 

Sherlock, on the other hand, realised he felt lonely the very day his ‘best friend’ left. It was a new emotion, Sherlock never having been close enough to anyone to feel lonely, and it was fascinating for a while. How the absence of a person could cause a physical reaction. It was yet another new sensation to discover, but soon it only hurt him, and Sherlock began hating it with a passion.

 

But then Mycroft, being home for a few days from uni, said something that left an impression on his ten year old baby brother. “Caring is not an advantage”. It was meant to be a comfort. A short term fix to his brother's pain, but Sherlock took it further. His first relationship had ended, after just a two years, and he had hurt. Sherlock forgot about it three weeks later, but he took his older brother's words for the only truth. Victor leaving had been hurtful and Sherlock never wanted to relive it again, even if he never knew why. He repressed the memories of Victor, and that was the end.

  
He ignored his classmates at grammar school. “They're idiots.” “There’s more fascinating things to do”. At that, everyone looked at him, confused. But he never told them. Never said what was so interesting. Crime. 

 

He had started deducing people early, at first it had been a game between him and Mycroft, but soon it became habit and he used it against people. Those with criminal intent to help others, and those without for blackmail (the best form of defense). He soon began to work with the police department. 

 

The DI, Johnson or Thompson or something, was glad for the help, even if he never admitted working with a minor. Sherlock wasn't allowed on crime scenes (which would have made his job way easier than working with photographs), but he was glad to be given the chance to even help. For a while, he thought about joining the police force after school, but he wasn't to keen on working with those idiots all the time. They were really hard work most of the time. 

  
Eventually, he went off to university to study chemistry, moving into a dorm close to campus. He was glad to find he didn't have another student living with him for the first semester, but he was afraid that would change soon. Sherlock was rude and brutally honest, qualities that only few people appreciated, and they were usually family. He didn't know what would happen if he was forced to live with a ‘normal’ person. 

  
The professors at uni were incompetent and he hated his fellow students for taking everything they said for gospel. He questioned their theories publicly, often proving them wrong, and they hated him. But Sherlock was used to that by now. Intellect like his scared people, irritated them, he couldn't blame them for it. No matter how hard he tried to.

  
When he noticed the belstaff in the window of a small shop, he could see at first glance that it would fit him perfectly. Sherlock had always been keen on dressing well, a characteristic he shared with his brother, and the coat was perfect. It made him look dark and mysterious and he felt a little like the pirate he had wanted to be as a child. Soon, he knew it would become his trademark, and he wore it every day in every weather (except for the days he had to wait for it to come back from the laundry).

  
It was, in fact the coat's fault that Sherlock Holmes met John Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Comments are how we know you like it.... Xd


	3. - John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Meets Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of you expressed want to see this part, so here you are. Their first meeting. 
> 
> This was 8 pages of full a4 hand writing that I then had to correct and type, all in one day. Yay for me XD

John stepped out of the taxi that had brought him to the university. His parents had refused to take him, saying he had no right to think he would even fit in with the people there. He was too 'lower class' to ever make it as a doctor, in their opinion. John didn't overly mind though. He hated them really. They'd never done anything with their lives, and they expected even less from their two children. 

 

John grabbed his luggage out of the back of the taxi and let it leave. He was now stood, alone, on the edge of the campus. Very soon, however,  John saw a man walking purposefully towards him. When he got to there, the unknown man held out his hand as a greeting.

  
"Hi, I'm Mike Stamford. I've been instructed to be your guide for today."

  
John took his hand and shook it in kind. "Hi. I'm John."

  
"So, John, what're you majoring in? I'm here doing a teaching degree so I can go into teaching medicine."

  
"Medicine, but not for teaching. I want to help people." John looked down, a solemn expression glancing his face. 

  
"Medicine, eh?" Mike ignored the change in John's demenour, something John was very pleased for. "You might see me in a few of your lectures then. Doing some training. Anyway, I'll give you a tour of the campus and then show you to your dorm room, that okay?"

  
"Yeah, that would be great thanks. After you." John looked up and smiled. At this positive sign, Mike walked off, smiling at John to follow. Picking up his bags, he followed on.

 

Two hours later, after John's bag had been taken off of him and they'd been walking around the campus for an hour and a half, John and Mike were making their way over to the sports pitch (a special request from John) to see the quality of the rugby equipment and the rugby team itself. As they neared, John did a quick head count of the players that were currently training. A smile graced his face as John realised they were one player missing. 

  
"Heya Mike!" One of the players had stopped their training and had shouted over at them. From his uniform, John could tell he was the captain of the team.

  
"Hi Dimmock. How's training going?" Mike answered as the captain, Dimmock, walked towards them.

  
"Not too good in all honesty. Ever since Jimmy dissapeared at the end of last season, we've not has a full team. Have you any idea how difficult it is to train for a season without a full team? I wish you'd agree to play again Mike. It would save us so much hassle."

  
"You know I'm not doing that again. Anyway, this is John." Mike nodded towards John. "He's a new student here. Taking medicine. John, meet Stanley. He's the captain of our university rugby team."

  
"Heya John. How are you?" Stanley smirked when he noticed John was watching the training still going on behind them. "John? Like rugby do you?"

  
John turned to Stanley, surprised and embarrassed are being caught not paying attention. "Oh, hi. Sorry, yeah. I like rugby, yeah. Played it as I was growing up. Stanley, right? You're the captain, aren't you?"

  
Stanley chuckled at John's repetition of Mike's words. Mike seemed amused as well. "Yeah, I'm the captain. But call me Dimmock, not Stanley. Everyone else does. I don't know if you heard, but we're actually one player short. You played as a kid, right? Interested in playing with us?"

  
A smile spread across John's face. It was the first time John had felt calm and happy since he'd arrived that morning. "What? Really? I'd love to!"

  
"I'm not promising anything, but you're welcome to join one of our training sessions. Maybe in a couple of days when you're settled in? It's Monday today right? We have a training session on Thursday. Tomorrow as well, but I advise you to use tomorrow to settle in. Wednesday and Sunday are our days off at the beginning of a season. 9am start for this week, okay? There's no lectures until next week, so we'll all be free. I hope you'll be here too." Dimmock smiled at John. 

  
John smiled back, a real, true smile. "Yeah, I'll definitely be there."

  
Dimmock looked to the side of Mike, and quickly began moving. "Great. Anyway, I've got to leave. Nice to see you again Mike. Great to meet you John."

  
"Bye." John watched him walk away, back to the team. "What was all that about then? Why'd he leave so suddenly?" John hadn't noticed Mike turn around and freeze. "Mike?"

  
"What? Oh right. Yeah, let's go. See him?" Mike pointed to a man who was overly well dressed in a massive coat and an obviously expensive suit. "Dimmock hates him. Actually, most people do  he can be an little harsh sometimes. He's actually not that bad when you get used to him, but as it's your first day, I think it'll be best if we don't run into him."

  
"Okay then." Mike walks off, and although he walks in the general direction of this mystery man, it was definitely attempting to avoid him.

 

After a few minutes walking in silence, the two now-friends began talking once again, getting over the apparent awkwardness of the subject of the 'man'.

  
Suddenly, this mystery man was stood, still, in front of the pair, seemingly coming out of nowhere. Both Mike and John stopped suddenly, Mike giving out a small sound of surprise before recovering quickly.

  
"Oh, hi Sherlock. How are you today?" Mike asked the man who was currently stood in the way.

  
The man, Sherlock, gave no reply, just looking over John as if checking a box of eggs for cracks.

 

"Umm, Mike? What's he doing?" John asked, obviously uncomfortable. 

  
Before Mike replied though, Sherlock spoke. "Medical science or Medicine?"

  
"Medicine. But how did you -"

  
Sherlock interrupted once again. "5 foot 6, below average. Stocky, but not fat so therefore muscly. Used to play a sport, most likely rugby due to your extended conversation with Dimmock. Did he offer you a spot on the team?" He didn't give John a chance to reply. "You stopped playing due to some form of traumatic event." John stiffened. "The traumatic event coupled with an abusive - no, not abusive, neglective - family is your main reason for coming to university. You come from a lower class family who do not believe you can make it through your first year, let alone the whole course because they did nothing with their lives. Your father is an alcoholic and you are worrying about your brother following down the same path - it's too later for that, I'm afraid. He's just doing a better job at hiding it. I'm assuming the traumatic event is something to do with being unable to help someone close to you, hence the medicine degree. Oh, and I knew it's medicine or madina science because Mike here was told to give you a tour around campus, something the powers at be would have only done because Mike wants to be at teacher. Mike wants to be at medicine teacher, therefore a medicine orientated degree. Did I miss anything?"

  
"What? Um, no. How'd you do that?"

  
"I observed. People like you never pay attention. You're all so stupid."

  
"Not then Sherlock, be nice." Mike interjected.

  
"Nice? What, like avoiding a 'friend'? Is that how you're nice to someone?"

  
"Oh, Sherlock, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. You're just a little strong sometimes and I didn't want to scare John, that's all."

  
"Scare him? I don't scare people. People are just scared and intimidated by my superior intellect. If I were to 'scare' him, he must be really stupid." Sherlock paused. "Anyway, I need to go. I left my riding crop in my room and the coroner lecturer said could do some experiments with some old corpses." At that Sherlock stormed off back towards his dorm room.

  
"Sorry about him." Mike said. "He's not usually that bad. I may have offended him slightly. Anyway, at least you've met him now."  
"Yeah. He seems quite posh too. Still, that trick was amazing."

  
Mike smiled and began walking again. Throughout the rest of fhe tour, including meeting the medicine professor, the two talked about various things including their pasts and habits of Sherlock, who John was fascinated by.

 

At 8pm, after going to the dining room for some dinner, Mike suggested that they go collect John's belongings from reception where they'd been kept all day and go find his room. While they were walking up the steps towards the 2nd floor, where John's room was, Mike began to explain his sleeping accommodations. 

  
"You'll be sharing a room, but I'm not sure with whom yet. Your room is designated as 221B for postage reasons. It stands for Building B, Floor 2, Room 21. Mrs Hudson is your building manager, so go to her with any problems. There are five showers per floor and a toilet with a sink and cupboard off of every room. Your roommate is likely to explain everything else you need to know. My room is 203B, and you're welcome to come visit me at any reasonable time. Well, this is me," Mike had stopped outside his room, and he pointed down the hallway. "You're over there. Good luck. See you at breakfast?"

  
"Yeah. See you tomorrow then Mike. Thanks for everything."

 

  
John walked towards the end of the hallway, looking for his room. He noticed the whiteboards next to each identical looking door with the names of the inhabitants of each room written on it. When he finally got to his room (or what was ro be his room), he was both confused and worried by his board. It had no name, just a single phrase. "Go away".

  
With his new key in hand, John slowly knocked on the door, simultaneously hoping someone would answer so he knew who he'd be sharing a room with, and wouldn't so he wouldn't have to meet this person who apparently hated everyone. 

  
When there was no response, John released released a bath he didn't realise he was holding, and used his key to unlock the door. As he opened it and placed his bags on the obviously uncloaks bed, he wondered who the person he'd have to live with for the next four years was like. He did know, however, that their cleaning habits were less than sanitary.

  
"Can't you read?" A familiar voice called out from a chair that seemed hidden behind the door. "The sign says 'Go away'."

  
"Of course I can read. But considering this is my new room, I decided to come in anyway." Although John recognised the voice, he had met so many new people today, he couldn't place who it belonged to. "Can I have the pleasure to meet my new roommate?"

  
The body that the voice came from leaned back in order to be seen, and to see, around the door. "I don't have a roommate. I refused. I need my space. I need quiet."

  
"Look, I'm sorry, but this is my room too now. I'll be as quiet as I can." John replied, his voice filled with obvious annoyance. "Or ism is that I am just too stupid for you?" He continued with a smirk.

  
"That's sarcasm. That's a joke. Why aren't you angry at me? You should be angry at me." Sherlock said, the crease in his brow showing his interest.

 

"Why would I be angry? That thing you can do is amazing." John took notice of the fact that Sherlock had stopped fighting against his presence.

  
"Do you think so?"

  
"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary." John smiled at Sherlock, hoping to convey both kindness and acceptance.

  
"That's not what people normally say." Sherlock looked into John's eyes, searching for anything that might show that John didn't mean what he said.

  
"What do people normally say?"

  
"'Piss off!'." Sherlock, having found nothing to indicate a lie, smiled at John, who was struggling to hold in laughter.

  
At the kind response from Sherlock, John fell into a full blown but of laughter, and soon Sherlock joined in.

  
Once they'd recovered, John began to unpack his belongings, and as he received no opposition from Sherlock (as he'd predicted), he began to rearrange the furniture in his side of the room to make it more personal.

 

At about 10pm, there was a knock on the door. John intended to ignore it, it was late after all, but seeing as thus knock had been the only thing all night to induce a reaction in Sherlock since their conversation earlier, John looked on in interest as Sherlock jumped up to answer the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos and Comments are love.


	4. - Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of a case...

Sherlock first met John after he had just come back from picking up his coat from the tailor. A suspect had tried to stab him, but had torn the heavy wool instead, missing him completely. John was with Mike, one of Sherlock’s only friends, and he couldn't hold back from making deductions about him. A waterfall of words he was never able to hold back, although he was not willing to try most times. 

  
But then John Watson had turned out to be more than a guy Sherlock would meet and then never see again.

  
Sherlock hated his new roommate. Objectively, John Watson was most likely better than anybody else. Medicine, especially for someone from a lower class, meant a lot of studying and spending time at the library and so Sherlock would probably have the room to himself for a lot of the time neither of them were in class. 

  
Secondly, John hadn't instantly called him a freak as most of his fellow students did. He had looked surprised, kind of hurt because Sherlock had reminded him of his past trauma, but also interested and even a little fascinated. Sherlock was sure if this as he'd even later admitted those feelings. 

 

Thirdly, they had laughed together, and that seemed to be a first step of bonding. Except Sherlock didn't want to bond with John.

  
He hated his new roommate, mainly because he didn't want a roommate at all. Not John, not Mike, not a friend, not anyone. Sherlock wanted to be left alone. People were idiots and Sherlock couldn't be bothered to deal with them or their boring, meaningless lives.

  
He had searched through the internet for a flat he could afford, mainly because the thought of sharing his current tiny space with another person made him want to shoot the wall. Mummy in all her empathy would understand and surely financially support him.

  
A knock disturbed his search. Two short knocks. Lestrade was shifting his weight nervously. Case than, important enough for the DI to be skittish. What a wonderful distraction. He opened the door, one arm already inside the coat.

  
“Sherlock. Good evening. There... we’ve found the body of a teenager who’s supposed to be in Tibet and I... we need your help.”

  
“Yes, fine. I will read the file in the cab.”

  
Lestrade seemed surprised to find him so willing to help even without any details, but grateful all the same.

  
Sherlock picked his scarf and followed the DI out the door.

 

Sherlock was almost fully out the door of the building, when he had an idea. Taking two steps at a time he got back to their floor, and made his way back into their room. John looked surprised.

  
“Already back?”

  
“Yes. No. You study medicine. Interest in the human anatomy, in blood and cells and bones. Do you want so see some now? Lestrade promised there would be a body.”

  
For a moment, John looked at him in wonder, in the next he was following him out the door.

  
“Oh god, yes.”

  
The questions came when they were sitting in the cab, following Lestrade through London.

  
“Okay, you’ve got questions.”

  
John looked at him and there was a smirk on his face. “Some, yes. First, where exactly are we going?”

  
“Crime scene, next.”

  
“Who are you? What do you do? Except for telling people things about their life you can't possibly know.”

  
“What do you think?”

  
“I’d say you were a private detective but…”

  
“But?”

  
“The police don’t go to private detectives for advice.” 

 

More clever than he looked then. Sherlock hid his smile by looking out of the window and at the blur of lights. “I’m a consulting detective. Only one in the world, I invented the job.”

  
“What does that even mean?”

  
“It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me.”

  
John smiled again, but the smile was different. Every smile Sherlock had seen on John so far was different from the others. Maybe, if he was bored out of his mind one day, he could do an experiment on John to see what input caused what smile. If that boredom was to come within the month. Sherlock would not share a room with someone for more than thirty days.

  
“Amazing. I mean you are clever, but I didn't think the police would ever consult an  amateur.”

  
Sherlock huffed. “After all I have deduced about you, do you still think I am an amateur? I can say more. I know your trauma has something to do with…”

  
“Stop.” John tensed next to him, his left hand twitching. “Stop, please, I can't…”

  
To his own surprise, Sherlock stayed silent and after a while, John spoke again. “Thank you. And I believe you, about not being an amateur I mean.”

  
Sherlock nodded and then jumped out of the cab that had just stopped, leaving John to pay.

  
Lestrade was already at the scene, talking to... Anderson. Sherlock hated Anderson even more than he hated other people. He was incompetent, not to mention a general jerk. 

  
Two cars. There had been an explosion . The fire had already been put out by the fire department and Anderson and his idiots were walking around like ants having lost their way.

  
“One car was parked, the other smashed into it. The driver survived.” For the first time, Sherlock had a listener to his mumbles. John had caught up with him as they walked closer.

  
“How do you know he survived?”

  
“Lestrade talked about the body of a teenager. And even the idiots at Scotland Yard could solve a car accident.”

  
“Sherlock. Good, we need you to... Who is this?” Lestrade came up to them as Sherlock lifted the tape to let them both onto the scene. He recognised John, but couldn't remember where from. Probably an old case or something. 

  
“He's with me.”

  
“But who is he?”

  
“I told you, he's with me.” The DI didn't seem to be satisfied by that answer, but he let them both to the car anyway, although it was accompanied by an exasperated sigh. “Drunk driver – he’s totally smashed, the cops are chasing him and he turns into the drive of the Welsborough house to try and get away. Unfortunately he hit the parked car of Welsborough's son, Charlie. There was an explosion caused by the fuel igniting. The drunk guy survived; they managed to pull him out, but when they put the fire out and examined the parked car they found a burned skeleton. By the time I was called they had already confirmed the body to be Charlie.“

  
Lestrade stopped next to the driver door and Sherlock could see the skeleton was still there, party covered in a black substance, different from the general charred substances. He fumbled for his magnifying lense, and it took a while before he realized Gavin (was that his name?!) was still talking.

  
“Charlie was in Tibet. He phoned his father from there only a few hours ago. At that time the car was empty, yet now the dead boy is at the wheel, dead.”

  
“So..,” John started, stepping closer. “a boy, who is supposed to be in Tibet is now dead in a car that was supposed to be empty?”

  
Lestrade nodded.  That's why we have our genius here. Because to be honest, I'm at a loss.”

  
“Anything particularly strange about the body, John?”

  
“Uh, I... I mean there are only bones left. He'd had his arm broken, but it's healed perfectly. I can't see anything special about it. Well, except for the.. stuff. What is that?”

  
“Vinyl.”

  
Turning to Lestrade, Sherlock's head was spinning with ideas and theories, but he needed to confirm them.

  
“I need samples from the skeleton and the seat.”

  
“Sherlock. I can't just give you…”

  
“The victim is the son of a Cabinet minister. You can't not solve this case. My friend Molly has a microscope that is adequate for my assessment of the vinyl.”

  
Lestrade sighed and Sherlock smiled. He always got what he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry about the delay. We've both been rather busy. Kudos and Comments are love XD


End file.
